Vanish

"Alright, Hermione, what did you want to tell me?"

When they returned from Diagon Alley, Hermione dragged Mr. Weasley to the broom shed and slammed the door behind them. She even set a charm against Fred and George's extendable ears. She had to tell someone she'd seen the Dark Mark on Malfoy's arm, and it couldn't be Ron or Ginny, and especially not Harry.

The balding man looked exhausted from working overtime now that You Know Who's supporters had slithered out of hiding. He sat with a huff onto a barrel of gnomish slug repellent. The whole shed shuddered slightly, and he held up his hand to block an ancient, heavy Clean Sweep from falling onto his head.

Even though, in many ways, Arthur Weasley had been more present in her life than her own father, the light in his eyes had never extended to her the way it did to Harry. It was at least in part because her answers about muggles didn't hold the simple whimsy he desired - and she wouldn't encourage his condescension the way Harry did, as though the only way Mr. Weasley could accept muggles was if he found them entirely non-threatening. He also related better to boys, which made sense, as he had six of them and held Ginny at arm's length.

"I saw the dark mark on Draco Malfoy's arm," she whispered.

Mr. Weasley sighed and crossed his arms over his stomach.

"Oh yes? And when did you see the mark? Am I about to find out where the three of you snuck off to when we were all in the joke shop?"

Hermione blinked. No need to argue with a father of seven. Still, she'd expected him to be slightly more surprised at her revelation.

"No, I saw it in Madam Malkins."

He closed his eyes.

"He's what, sixteen? You really think You Know Who would make a sixteen-year-old a Death Eater?"

"Why not? His father is one."

"Hermione," he said, leaning forward and laying his hand on her shoulder.

She felt another pang of longing for her parents, who loved and trusted her and believed in her enough to move halfway across the world.

"I know you're an, um, ambitious girl, but I need you and Ron and Harry to sit this out. Can you focus on keeping Harry safe this year, keeping his head on straight?" He pulled his hand back and lay his head in his palm.

"The order needs him to seem pulled together, especially now that more people are on his side. We both know he tends to say exactly what's on his mind to whoever, and we'd all like to avoid another Umbridge situation," He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, "especially with the likes of Draco Malfoy."

But Hermione had barely heard past the first sentence and felt like she had been hexed. He caught her eyes.

"And Hermione, if I could give some unsolicited advice, leave Draco Malfoy alone . I know his family is famous and wealthy, but just don't go there."

Then she remembered. Rita Skeeter had called her a plain but ambitious girl in the Triwizard article. He thought she was going after another famous, wealthy wizard. She felt anger bubble in her, but she wouldn't flinch, wouldn't blush.

"I just told you I thought he was a Death Eater," she narrowed her eyes.

Mr. Weasley gave her what she was sure he thought was a knowing smile.

“And Victor Krum was from Durmstrang. And you noticed something about Mr. Malfoy's arms while he was getting his robes fitted." He stood, looked down at her, and widened that brutal, knowing smile.

She felt the fight in her turn to defeat.

"Let's just all try to keep Harry focused on his studies this year, alright? Can you do that for me?"

"Right,"

"Good girl." He patted her shoulder again before opening the shed door.

"I'd best go see if Fleur or Molly need anything," he said, and he tarried back into the house, letting the screen door slam behind him.

Hermione felt dissolution coil within her. She hadn't met a wizard who didn't hold some sort of prejudice against muggles or against each other - only some, like the Weasleys, were more covert about it. She loved them, but in so many ways, they were just another wizarding family who thought she'd do anything, debase herself in any way to feel pure.

Ron, Ginny, and Harry erupted from the house.

"There you are, Hermione! Two on two again?" Ron yelled. She forced a smile and nodded. Merlin knew she hated Quidditch.

Being fifty feet in the air didn't stop Harry from obsessing about seeing Malfoy in Bourgin and Burkes. His vitriol had bloomed into obsession, and not for the first time. She didn't have any particular care for Malfoy's life, but she also knew he was a skilled dueler. The whole school knew he would have taken Harry down if Harry hadn't shocked the world with Parselmouth back in the second year.

Malfoy had definitely gotten an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he didn't have the Chosen One attached to his name to boost his score.

No, she couldn't tell him, and it pained her to admit that Mr. Weasley was right. She didn't fully understand the prophecy Harry had told them about, but she could glean that one simple fact - he had to stay safe at all costs.

"What do you think that cabinet thing was?" Harry asked as he chucked the quaffle at Hermione, who let it slip through her fingers. Ginny dove below her and retrieved it with ease.

"Give it a rest already," Ginny said, speeding off in the other direction toward the makeshift goalposts.

"You know who's gotten fit since last year?" Ron started, receiving a toss from Ginny and chucking it into the middle ring. "Lavender. Did you see her in the joke shop?"

"She's always been pretty," Hermione said, grateful to change the subject.

"Yeah, but she, like, filled out a bit, don't you think, Harry?" Ron called, looking for a reaction from Harry, who hadn't budged from the other edge of the pitch. If Harry heard him over his own head, he didn't respond, and so Hermione laughed if only to keep the conversation going.

"She has. Of course, this has nothing to do with you gawking down her shirt when she was bent over those love potions, right?" she asked. Ginny flew past her, making a retching noise, and Ron's tone turned sour.

"I'm serious. Why are you making fun of me?"

"I'm not making fun of you, Ronald, relax. Lavender is a very pretty girl."

In fact, Hermione had always admired Lavender's big eyes, loose, manageable curls, and her excellence at charms. She'd been the first girl Hermione had kissed back at the very end of fourth year, during one of the few nights Pavarti was out with her sister. They'd stolen a single butterbeer and used it as an excuse to taste it on each other's lips.

"I'm tired," she finally said, sick of trying to manage her windblown hair and ready to get off the old beaten-up broom seat that was clearly designed for a man.

"Fine by me," grumbled Harry.

"I'm going to practice a bit more," called Ginny, "Ron, play keeper for me. You'll need the practice if you want to make the team again this year," The two of them took up position again while Hermione and Harry flew down to the broom shed.

In the quiet, cramped shed, Harry helped her store her broom on a high shelf. He pushed so hard against the clutter that he popped a pixie egg. It exploded with tiny insect-like pixilings that crawled off in every direction.

"You believe me, don't you 'Mione?" He asked, brushing a stray pixie from his shirt.

"I feel like since the Department of Mysteries, no one believes me about anything." He deflated against the wall, and Hermione put her hands against his chest.

"It's not about whether I believe you, Harry - it's about whether I match your level of concern." She took a step closer. "I get why you hate him so much. He's a prejudice, stuck up little git." She sighed. "Not to mention that his father lured you, us, to the Department of Mysteries. And his aunt..." Harry stood straight and she moved off him.

"Come on, Hermione, would you give it a rest?" She narrowed her eyes.

"Harry, you can't keep this bottled up anymore."

"I'm not! Look, I don't want to talk about it because there's nothing to talk about. Serius is dead. I miss him sure but let's be honest," he ran his hands through his hair, "It's getting easier. I'm...He's not the first person I've lost."

It felt like a gut punch. 

"I don't want that for you, Harry..." 

"But I still have you," he interrupted, his eyes wide, pleading, "and Ron and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Gin...Ginny." She nodded.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset."

"I'm not upset." He leaned back against the wall. "I just wish people would believe me."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Maybe she was trying to force something that wasn't there. Maybe he really had healed, or maybe he hadn't, but it would take time. 

"Hey," she whispered In his ear, "I promised you a birthday present, remember?" Harry laughed.

"Hermione, you don't have to,"

"I want to," she said and felt her eyelashes flutter against his cheekbone when she looked down to unbutton his trousers.

"And not just because I want to get your mind off Malfoy."

She looked up at him.

"Don't you want me to?"

"Fuck yes," he said, and she laughed.

Hermione had loved giving Viktor head. Out in the golden fields of his Bulgarian estate, they'd talk, then fuck, then talk some more. Sometimes, they'd stay out until the early morning, and she'd watch the sun creep up over his hair as she looked up from between his knees - the light all but obscuring the adoration in his eyes, his incredulous smile - the sound of birds muddling the curse words she couldn't understand but felt in her whole body.

She dropped slowly to her knees, pulling Harry's boxers down with her. He popped free. She wrapped her fist around the base of him and looked up with a sly smile.

She started with sweet licks and kisses around the tip, savoring what she'd longed for for days. For one thing, the boy who lived curved downward, perfect to slip down her throat. She needed this to last.

She wrapped her lips around his tip and began to pump her fist up and down, slowly grabbing wetness to soften the strokes, and circled her tongue around his silky head. She heard a moan escape his lips, and she moaned in tandem, moving the vibration along her tongue.

She tested a full slide down and paused to breathe in the most intimate smell of him.

"Hermione, that's fucking awesome. Godric, you're amazing at everything, aren't you?"

She hummed along back up him, and when she moved back down, she pushed the hard tip just so slightly into her throat. She pulled back.

"Do that again," he groaned.

She looked up at him.

"Do what," she mumbled sweetly, with him between her lips. When he didn't respond, she mumbled, "This?" And she squeezed his base and stroked him with her mouth, but not past the hilt. He looked down and narrowed his eyes.

"Hermione, come on, please?" He asked, running his fingers through the crown of her hair.

"Please, what?" She asked, and she licked along the vein beneath him. Harry groaned in desperation. Hermione wrapped her lips around him and made it halfway down before slurring, "How 'bout you show me." He really was terrible at saying what he needed.

"Grab My hair," she said.

She felt tightness at the base of her skull. Apparently, this was the one place the Chosen One's took direction.

He tightened his grasp on her hair and pushed himself down towards the back of her throat. She relaxed and let the hard, silky tip slide deeper and deeper down. He thrust, shaking with restraint, and then pulled himself back up and out of her mouth with a light pop.

"Oh, bollocks, I'm sorry," he said, and he used his sleeve to wipe away tears from the corners of her eyes.

She smiled and rolled her eyes back with a flutter.

"Do it again," she purred.

He parted her lips and pushed himself back into her mouth. He gripped her hair hard as he rode her, and as much as she enjoyed the feeling of him inside her, she mostly enjoyed the refracted view up at him through her tears of pleasure.

"Take your shirt off," she commanded when he pulled free. He nodded and pulled the worn fabric up over his head. She wanted to watch every muscle twitch and spasm as he pushed himself back into her throat.

"Hermione, I'm gonna,"

"Not yet, you're not," she slurred.

"I thought this was my birthday present," he chided, but she pulled her mouth off him and tapped his hand to release her hair. She crossed her hands over her chest and looked up with an eyebrow raised until she was sure the orgasm evaded him.

"Ruthless," he shook his head.

"Well, I've been dressing up for you," she said, "and you haven't cared to notice." She got to her feet and took the two steps to the other end of the shed.

"What do you mean?" He asked, kicking off his pants. She looked over her shoulder. He stood before her, naked, at attention, and utterly perplexed. The savior of the wizarding world.

"I mean," she said, and she slowly pulled her top over her head, revealing the back of the lacey black bra that so interested Malfoy that morning.

"Every day since you got here, I've been thinking about you as I put on my knickers," she dropped her jeans to the floor, "and I've been wondering when you're going to compliment them."

She turned slowly as she reached a finger under her waistband to circle her clit, never landing. Her abdomen caved and bucked with each circle, and she opened her mouth with a gasp, sure to give Harry a good look at her tongue.

"God, Hermione, you are so fucking hot."

She always loved when he slipped into Muggle' names in vain.' It was like a language they alone shared, and it always meant he was stripped down to his soul. But she didn't budge from her delirium across the room, so he bit his cheek and ran one hand through his hair while the other palmed his cock.

"I'm sorry," he laughed, "I'm sorry for not letting you suck my cock sooner. You can suck my cock any time you like."

"And?" she asked, maintaining her bliss away from him.

"And your knickers," he said, watching her finger dance around her pussy, "are fucking sexy."

"Thank you," she said. She stalked towards him and batted his hand away. She stood there for a moment, savoring the sound of them both coming undone by her hands.

"I suppose I'll let you come, then," and she fell hard to her knees.

Before he could adjust, she pushed him so far into her throat that she gagged. She squeezed bruises into his hips and circled her hips below, catching the lightest friction of her knickers and teasing herself into a frenzy on his cock. She sucked up and down him, with no care towards sounds, or teeth, or a house full of prying eyes. Her eyes rolled in her head, and her chest swung with her hips, her nipples just grazing his thighs beneath the lacy fabric. She increased the pressure, the speed. She pushed him further and further and further down her throat with each plunge.

Just as she thought she never wanted it to end, she felt the warm liquid in her throat. She barely had to swallow as she bobbed a few more times to bring him down. He spasmed beneath her fingers, and she gave him one last lick before sitting back on her heels.

"Hermione," he rumbled above her as he pulled his trousers back up and fastened them.

He reached down a hand to her and helped her to her feet.

"That was fucking incredible. Seriously, best birthday present ever. That was so so good." Hermione looked up at him with a coy smile.

"Would you say I've been a good girl?" She smirked up at him, and he looked down his glasses at her and puffed out a breath of air.

"A very good girl," he chuckled, rubbing his hands up and down her shoulders.

Is there anything I can do for you?" He smiled as he ran the back side of his hand down her cheek, catching a drop of cum on her lip with his thumb.

She sucked his thumb into her mouth and looked up at him with big brown eyes. She could tell him all she wanted in return was for him to let go of his guilt and frustration about Sirius, to forget about Malfoy, but not only would he see through the manipulation, it wouldn't be honest, not to mention…hypocritical.

"Yes," she said, "Next time, notice my knickers."